“You don’t need to do that,” Nancy, Brian’s sister said to the young respiratory technician. She had just placed an oxygen mask over their Father’s mouth to start some treatment. We were all standing in the hospital room around their Father’s bed, Brian, me, Nancy and her husband, Bob. The last year had been a roller coaster of ups and downs regarding his health. Brian was very close to his Father. “He’s dying,” Nancy continued. The poor young girl looked like a fawn that had just looked into the headlights of an oncoming car. She took her machine and slithered out of the room. “How could Nancy know that?” I asked myself.
A moment or so later I heard a gruesome sound. It reminded me of the sound I have heard mortally wounded animals make in TV documentaries. It was emanating from Brian. He was face down on the bed next to his Father’s lifeless body. I wanted to go over and comfort Brian but I couldn’t seem to move. That sound went on for what seemed like an eternity. After a few minutes Brian pulled himself together. He and Nancy went out into the hall where they made arrangements for the body. Our wedding was to take place in less than two weeks but for now we had to plan a funeral.
Brian and I didn’t talk on the ride home from the hospital. I so wanted to comfort him at least one part of me did. I had come into this relationship as a strong, independent single mother of three children who was competing in a very intense business environment. I had just recently learned to be tough. Instinctively I was afraid of getting sucked into the traditional female role. Sadly I thought it would demean me. I did not yet know how to be tough and tender.
I felt terrible for a long time that I had failed Brian because I didn’t hug him or make any overt act to comfort him. Emotions were very scary to me back then. I couldn’t let my guard down. I literally felt paralyzed from reaching out to Brian. If only I had some time and energy to really think about all of this back then! It might have spared Brian and I a lot of agony.
Women instinctively know how to do that stuff except for me or so I thought. I berated myself. I wasn’t a good wife or mother because I lacked that gene. I wondered if I was born that way or whether the demands of the workplace and life eradicated that part of me. I always felt inadequate especially back then so I just added this to my list of inadequacies.
Q: Do you struggle, as I have, with the nature of the role we are supposed to play or the qualities we are supposed to possess as a wife or partner? ( It has certainly evolved and changed dramatically since the 50s and 60s.)
